Five Times Nick Doesn't Propose to Jess (and One Time He Does)
by unicornsandrainbows
Summary: "When we're married... merry! Merry Christmas!" Jess's slip sets in motion what Nick hopes will be his most brilliant series of pranks ever. Featuring Chicago accents, wedding dress TV shows, and as many fakeouts as Nick Miller can get away with before actually popping the question. Chapter 5 should be up now!
1. When We're Merry Christmas

**Author's Note: Thanks so much to Captain Crunk, the best beta ever, who inspired me to take what might have been a lonely little one-shot and turn it into... well, something a little longer that I hope you all like. **

_"When we're married...merry! Merry Christmas!"_

He knows what she said. His eyesight may be crappy, what's on his driver's license notwithstanding, but he's got damn good hearing.

And he's not an idiot.

And he _knows_ this girl. He can read her like a book. Even when she does things that are weird and silly and surprising and generally unexpected but always kind of awesome, the real stuff about her - the important stuff - he's got that down cold. He knows she's the kind of girl who's probably had her wedding planned out since she was five years old. That she's picked out the flowers and the pattern of her dress (and that she may very well sew it herself). That she's just been waiting for the right guy to plug into her scenario and – boom – one dream wedding come true.

He knows she's probably envisioned being married to every guy she's dated for a significant length of time. That's just how her mind operates. Therefore she may very well have been imagining marriage to _him_– well, possibly since Mexico. Maybe even before that, but her frame of mind between the time they first got together and the wedding is still a little vague to him, and then there was her Dad showing up and him being stupid and their calling it off and he doesn't like to think about that part very much.

Instead he thinks about how they've never spent a night apart since they drove off in her Volvo. How they never had any awkward morning-after conversations about morning breath or bed-head or having to be somewhere else. How happy he is. How happy _she _is. And how much he never wants this to end.

He knows where this - what they have - is headed, and in what seems to weirdly make sense, his brain, instead of setting off every panic signal his body is capable of emitting, is doing the opposite. And it's only at the thought of _not_ having this, with her, that he feels like freaking out.

It was a clever cover, though, he'll give her that. And part of him wishes he'd called her on it, partly because it really is fun to make her squirm, just a little, and partly because he would have made it up to her afterwards by actually having that conversation. And then he would have made it up to her in other ways. Which might also involve making her squirm.

But sometime soon, he's going to tell her... everything. And then he's going to ask her… just one thing. In the meantime, as he's internally debating the pros and cons of asking her the question "Will you Merry Christmas?" next month (just to see her reaction), he comes up with the perfect scheme. Because Jess is so damn _fun_ to provoke that sometimes he can't help himself, and this time, he'd have a really, _really_ good reason to do it. If she doesn't kill him first.

He starts planning it out in his head. If all goes well, he'll have a couple of months to put everything into practice, which is good, because he needs to start looking for a ring. Which means he's going to have to get his work life figured out, and fast, because that's a whole lot of money he doesn't have. Fortunately, it's not necessary to surreptitiously start investigating ring preferences, since he's been filing away that information from the beginning - he can't help playing with any jewelry she still has on when everything else is off and they're just lying together, happy and sated.

It's clear, though, that as much as she's been thinking about it, she didn't mean for that word to slip out. And he's not sure if it's because she's not ready to have that conversation, or because she thinks _he_ isn't. So for now, until he's ready to start making that other, bigger move (which kind of feels like he's preparing for one of his pranking shenanigans, except it's something good, that will make her happy, and how weird is it that he's _excited_ at the thought?), he's going to wait it out. Keep his cards close, even though he's pretty sure he's got a winning hand.

Because he already placed his bet, back in that Volvo.

All in.


	2. Marry Christmas

"Can I just go to sleep and wake up in January?" Jess asked, her mouth full of ice cream. She sat on the couch with her feet up on one end, holding a rapidly depleting pint of Neapolitan and a spoon.

"It's that bad?" Nick replied as he sat approached her on the couch. He lifted her feet, sat down, and put her feet on his lap.

Jess swallowed. "Worse. Foster wants me to coordinate the school's winter performance on a nonexistent budget. None of the kids want to be in it. And apparently the show's been a laughingstock for years. Rose told me he always asks the new teacher to run it." She took another large bite of ice cream. "It's like a trial by fire." She had come home from school, overwhelmed with the amount of work she needed to do before the holidays, dropped her things on the kitchen table, and headed straight for the freezer.

"Come on, Jess, you'll do fine," he reassured her. His hands started kneading her feet. "You love school plays. Don't let Foster stop you from having a marry Christmas."

She looked at him, sharply. "A what kind of Christmas?"

Nick looked back at her. He contorted his face into a mask of confusion. "A marry Christmas. What other kind is there, right?" He smiled at her, knowing he'd been caught. He'd waited until Jess brought up Christmas again. It didn't take too long – it was already November, after all.

"You mean a _merry_ Christmas," she corrected him.

"That's what I said," replied Nick.

"No, you said 'marry,'" responded Jess. "Wait a minute. Are you getting back at me for the time when I said—" she cut herself off, trying to decide if it was worth bringing it up.

"When you said what, Jess?" He kept up the puzzled façade. He had now discovered something for the first time: that under certain circumstances, he could pull off a perfect poker face without turning into King Sweatback. Specifically, if he was pranking someone (or, similarly, messing with his girlfriend and trying to subliminally get her to start expecting a proposal).

She sat up straight and looked directly at his face, silently steeling herself for his inevitable panic moonwalk off the couch and into his room. "The other day, when we had to babysit Schmidt because of Coach and Cece's date. I kind of, might have, said something about us, you know. Tying the knot. Getting hitched. Being married." Her voice got progressively quieter and higher pitched as she finished speaking.

Nick looked at her, his eyes softening. "Yeah, I remember. What about it?" He reached for her hand and held it.

"You're not freaking out," she said.

"No, I'm not," he answered.

"I'm not saying you should but – why aren't you freaking out?"

He smiled. "I don't know. I just – I've told you before. I'm not scared. And I'm really happy. And, I don't know, I can see us going in that direction, one day. Can't you?" He waited for her to answer. It felt like that moment when he'd confronted her after she'd admitted to wanting him when she'd been on the pain pills. He knew what she'd say. He just needed to hear her say it.

"Yeah. One day, right?" she was smiling now, and it was lighting up her entire face.

"Yeah," he said. "But why are you bringing this up now?" He was getting good at looking puzzled.

"Because you said 'marry Christmas' just now and when I brought up being married the other night I kind of panicked that I was going to make you panic so I tried to cover it and I said 'merry Christmas' and I thought you were teasing me about it."

"What are you talking about? When did I say 'marry Christmas'?" he asked. He was getting better at this. Don't deny it, just ask questions back instead of answering them.

'"Just now."

"Yeah, I said 'marry Christmas,' like everyone does.'"

"Okay, you just said it again."

"What are you talking about, Jess?" This was getting fun.

"You're pronouncing 'merry' all wrong."

"Oh, for crying out loud, I'm from Chicago, Jess! Why do you suddenly have a problem with my accent? I don't give you a hard time about your Portland accent. You don't even give _Schmidt _a problem with _his_ accent. Leave it alone already!" He threw his hands in the air and feigned exasperation. It wasn't difficult.

"I have never heard you pronounce the word 'merry' like that, ever," she declared. She pointed at him for emphasis.

"When do I ever say it? I don't say it, Jess, because no one ever does unless it's almost Christmas," he answered.

"Okay," Jess responded. She'd try a different tactic. "Fine. I don't have a problem with your accent. I _like_ your accent. But – look – how do you pronounce the word 'berry'?"

"Berry," he said.

"Right. What about, um, 'cherry'?"

"Cherry," said Nick. "Jess, what's your point, here?"

"Okay, now say the word 'merry.'"

"Marry."

"Dammit, Nick! They all rhyme! That's not an accent, that's just weird!" she exclaimed.

"Stop calling the way I talk weird!" he was scowling at her, but inside, he knew he'd won. Now he'd be able to keep this up at least until January and although it might drive her crazy, she wouldn't be able to say a thing against it.

"You're so annoying!" she said. She took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's just put on the TV and relax. Sorry, it's been a long day." She lay back against him.

"No problem," he said. He reached behind him on the couch and found the remote, then started flipping through channels. "Oh, look," he said. "The Merry Tyler Moore show's on."


	3. Say Yes to the Dress

**Author's Note: Firstly, I cannot thank Captain Crunk enough for his help with this chapter (also the last one, but especially this one given how much work it needed at first). Also, I had a number of comments about the pronunciation of "marry" and "merry" in the last chapter. To clarify, in some parts of the country, these two words (and the name "Mary") are all pronounced the same. In others (including where I'm from - and apparently, my beta), they're pronounced differently. For my purposes, I'm going to assume that both Nick and Jess do hear the difference between the two words (and according to a dialect map I found that FF won't let me link to, there is an actual possibility that someone from Chicago or Portland would do so). Hopefully that helps the last chapter make more sense. And now, moving on...**

December had come and gone, and Nick was in the midst of his post-holiday crash. He was slumped on the couch, thinking, flipping through television channels methodically. He had opted to stay home while Jess went out shopping for craft supplies. Nick had learned his lesson from the last time he'd accompanied her – they still couldn't speak of The Pipe Cleaner Incident without things escalating into a full-blown fight. In the meantime, he'd puttered around the loft, had a beer, eaten a sandwich, and watched two full episodes of Boardwalk Empire, all the while thinking of what move to make next in his scheme.

He saw a flash of white on the screen and tossed the remote aside. Maybe he'd be struck by some inspiration if he kept this show on. It was about weddings, so it couldn't hurt, right? He could have it on when Jess came home and… yeah. He had nothing. Messing with people wasn't always as easy as he made it look.

Why would he be watching this show anyway? Why would any straight guy watch this show? _Would_ any straight guy watch this show? He'd have to ask Schmidt. Come to think of it, Schmidt might actually watch it. That guy was scarily aware of fashion trends. The people on the TV were talking about A-lines. What the hell was an A-line? The girl who must have been the bride was pretty but she had nothing on Jess. Why was he watching this again? Oh, right. He needed something to confuse Jess and get her thinking about weddings. Yeah, he still had nothing.

He knew what he was going to do next, but he hadn't had time to get to the jewelry store yet. Thank goodness for Clyde's generous Christmas bonus. He needed to keep the momentum of all of the steps in his plan going between now and then. Jess had answered his last "So, did you have a marry Christmas?" a few days ago without batting an eyelash; it had taken almost a month for her to stop twitching whenever he'd said it but it had finally happened. He needed another move, and fast, at least until he bought the ring. And got the other things he needed. At least he had another couple of hours before Jess came-

"Hey Nick, did you – wait. Is that _Say Yes to the Dress_? Why are you watching a show about wedding dresses?" How had she snuck up on him? Damn, that woman was like a ninja in those shoes of hers. He backtracked in his head. He'd been caught. Her tone was suspicious. This was good – bait was always good – but he needed an answer, fast.

"Jess! When did you get here? No! I'm not watching – it was on! I was flipping channels. I put in the numbers for ESPN in the wrong order. The batteries died. You're so pretty! Barack Obama! Taxes!" he protested and gestured at the questionable program. The motions of his arms quickly progressed from gesturing to out-and-out flailing.

Jess turned to put her shopping bags down by the door, then walked over to the couch. She picked up the remote and toyed with the volume buttons, then tilted her head and looked at him for a moment. "Nick, the remote is fine. The batteries are obviously working, so what gives?"

"Wedding dresses are sexy!" he blurted out. His eyes were wide. Crap. This was _not _how he envisioned this next stage would go.

"You think _wedding dresses_ are _sexy_," she repeated skeptically, walking over slowly back to him and sitting down on the arm of the couch on his left.

"Yeah!" He had to cover. There was no choice. He'd dug himself a hole, and now he'd have to run with it, mixed metaphors be damned. "All that frilly stuff, and white – white dresses are my sweet spot." He winked and pointed at her. Maybe he could make this work.

"Is this like a sex thing? Like in T_he Graduate_? Oh, I could be the runaway bride and—"

This was going way further than he had envisioned, and in a direction he was very much unprepared for. Also whether or not he was into girls in wedding dresses was something he'd prefer to find out only once, and whether that would even happen was still up in the air. He needed to cut her off but keep her confused.

"We could do that. Or, you know, you could wear white on our next date night." He was thinking fast. Maybe he had something. Maybe this could work and he could shut this down.

"Okay," she said, bemused. "What did you have in mind?" She was leaning into him, her fingers tracing his arm.

"Well, there's this bowling alley on Howard that I heard has these amazing wings. I was thinking we could go there." There. That looked like it had worked. Jess was already giving him the side-eye. He didn't know a lot of things, but he was pretty sure she wouldn't show up at a bowling alley wearing a wedding dress. And wings were messy, right? She wouldn't want to get anything on a white dress. He hoped.

"Wings? Are you sure, Nick?" Bingo. "We could stay in, too." Crap.

"No!" He cringed. "I mean, yes! But in that case, I'm gonna want you naked." He grinned at her. Maybe if he put the charm on he could talk her out of this. But that still didn't solve the possibility of her wearing a wedding dress for some kind of roleplay scenario.

"Okay, that's fine. We could go bowling, too. I just thought we'd do something you wanted. You went to that flea market with me last week."

"Why don't we do both?" he replied. Oh, wait. He was supposed to be talking her out of the wedding getup.

"Bowling and me naked, you mean?" she asked. "Well, as long as the stalls in the bathroom actually lock. You know I'm not into public nudity—"

"No, the other way around!"

"Wings and a dress?" She looked puzzled. "Now you're just confusing me, Nick."

"No, the other two." Good. Confusion was good. Unfortunately, he was getting just as confused.

"Sex and a wedding?" Good grief. How did date night turn into a freaking honeymoon? This was his nightmare.

"No! Bowling! Sex! But no to the dress! I'm saying no to the dress!"


	4. Boxed In

**Author's Note: Captain Crunk is amazing and you should all tell him so. That is all. (I lied - that's not all. I should also apologize for the delay in posting this chapter, but it's extra-long to make up for it. I hope you enjoy!)**

Three days later, at eight in the morning, Nick walked into the dining area holding a substantially-sized cardboard box in his arms. "Hey, is Jess still here?" he asked and put the box down on the table.

"Nah, she left ten minutes ago," answered Coach. He and Winston were seated at the end of the table finishing their meals, Coach having eggs, toast, and a protein shake, and Winston spaghetti and meatballs and a salad.

"Good," said Nick, as he opened the box and tilted it over the table's surface. Tumbling out came dozens of small, square, blue velvet boxes. Both Coach and Winston's eyes widened.

"What'd you do, Nick, rob a jewelry store?" asked Winston, alarmed.

"No, no," Nick reassured him. "Look, can I count on you guys to keep a secret for a couple of weeks?"

"What is it man? Do you need an alibi? I can get you an alibi," offered Coach. He reached for one of the boxes.

"Is this more stuff that belonged to Pop-pop?" asked Winston.

Coach opened the box in his hands. "Hey, it's empty!"

Nick smiled proudly. "They're all empty. They're part of a plan. I'm gonna ask Jess to marry me."

Winston and Coach jumped up. "Congratulations, man!" cried Winston, grabbing Nick's hand with one of his and giving him a one-armed hug with the other.

"That's fantastic!" echoed Coach. "Oh, man. Weddings always… they make me… Damn there's a lot of dust in here." He wiped at his eyes and attempted to strike a more manly pose.

Winston paused and looked at the table once more. "Wait a second. You're going to propose with a bunch of empty boxes? I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure Jess is going to expect some kind of bling."

"Don't worry, Winston!" Nick's grin broadened. "I got this. I just picked out a ring yesterday. The boxes are all part of the surprise."

"What surprise?" asked Winston, his voice skeptical.

Nick sighed. "Look, Jess already knows I know she wants to get married. She's gonna see a proposal coming a mile away, so I'm just trying to… throw her off, a little."

"Throw her off, how?" asked Coach. He had begun stacking the boxes like blocks, creating a tower.

"Well, that's where I need your help. I'm going to leave these boxes all over the loft, and you two have to pretend you don't see them. If Jess talks about them, you pretend you don't know what she's talking about. She shows them to you? You say you've never seen them before. And you never heard me say anything about a proposal. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure," said Winston.

"You can count on me, man!" said Coach, reaching towards Nick and slapping him on the back, knocking down his tower in the process.

"Cool. All right, I'm gonna start hiding these. You want to help?" Nick asked, filling his arms with a dozen boxes.

Winston and Coach smiled at each other. "We're in!" they said.

The next thirty minutes were spent with the three men running back and forth from the table to various locations in the loft, snickering like little boys. Nick took care of Jess's room and left a number of boxes everywhere he could think of, from her drawers to her handbags to her shoes and pockets. He made sure to leave one on her pillow and placed a number of boxes in his own room, then returned to the table. There was one box left, which he left there.

Once Coach had left the loft for the day and Winston had gone to bed, Nick returned to his room. He sat on his bed and took out his keychain. It was still a novelty, having a keychain – and a key, for that matter – but it was coming in useful in a different way at the moment. Hanging on the loop in addition to his house and car keys was a small gold circlet set with a small, sparkling diamond. He'd seen it the day before and had known right away it was the one. It reminded him of Jess. Small, delicate, in an old-fashioned setting, it had sparkled and kept his attention no matter what else he'd looked at in the store. He'd haggled with the jeweler to drop the price down by a couple of hundred dollars, but he'd known that in the end he was going to buy it no matter what. It was perfect.

* * *

The loft was quiet when Jess came home from work that afternoon. She walked over to the table and automatically began emptying her bag of all the papers she had to grade when something caught her eye – a small, square jewelry box. The kind that generally held a small item, like a set of earrings – or a ring. She looked around, confirmed that she was alone, and picked it up and opened it. It was empty. Puzzled, she put it down and went to the kitchen to get a snack and make some tea before she began work.

She opened the cabinet where her tea was located and found another box, identical to the first, on the shelf. Once again, she looked around, picked it up, opened it, confirmed that it was empty, and put it down on the counter. She took her box of tea off the shelf and opened it, and there, nestled amongst the teabags, was yet another box, also empty. She made a face. This was getting a little weird.

More boxes turned up in other places in the kitchen – in the sink, fortunately just before she turned on the water. In the cutlery drawer, as she was getting a spoon to stir in some honey. On the counter, behind said honey. In the refrigerator. In the pantry, next to the pretzels. By the time her tea was ready and her snack was prepared, Jess's state of mind had progressed from moderate confusion to slight irritation. She returned to the table, drank her tea and ate her snack, organized the assignments she had to grade, and then walked to the couch, her eyes on the topmost paper, to read them in comfort. She sank down on the cushion in the corner, then jumped back up with a cry of frustration. Her rear end had connected with yet another box. It, too, was empty, just as all the others (which she'd compulsively checked) had been. She snapped shut the latest offender, marched over to Winston's room, and rapped on his door. After a moment, she called his name and knocked again.

"Winston! Are you home?"

Winston opened the door, bleary-eyed and looking slightly annoyed. "Jess, it's four-thirty in the afternoon. You know damn well I'm home, because _I was sleeping_, 'cause unlike some other people in this loft, _I _still have to_ go to work later_."

Jess sighed. "Sorry, Winston. I just have to ask – I found like half a dozen of these boxes in different places in the loft. They're all empty. Do you know anything about them?" She held out the box she'd found on the couch.

Winston glanced at the box. He stifled the urge to ask "Only half a dozen?" and yawned. "Never seen them before. Can I go back to sleep now or is there some other non-emergency you need to keep me awake for?"

"No, that's all," replied Jess. "Go back to sleep – sorry I woke you." She turned back to the couch to actually get her work done this time.

"Sure you are," Winston responded with a sigh. He closed his door and fell face-first back onto his mattress.

Coach came home a few hours later. By that point, Jess had finished her work and gone to her room, where she'd found yet another box on her pillow. She had changed into a pajama set and found another box in the drawer where she kept them, then on a hunch had looked through the rest of her dresser and found another three in various drawers and on top. She put her feet into her slippers and found another one inside her footwear as well. An additional search led to another dozen boxes turning up on her window ledge, on her desk, in her desk drawers, and in her nightstand – including three nestled among her night peanuts. Exasperated, she collected all of the boxes she'd found since she came home, went to the kitchen to start making dinner, and laid the boxes out on the table in a tidy square. Her dinner preparations turned up an additional five boxes throughout the kitchen.

Coach's first stop upon coming home was the refrigerator to grab an apple and some water. As he straightened up from peering into the shelves and closed the door, he jumped back, startled, at the sight of Jess hovering less than a foot away.

"Aaah! Jess! Hey! Didn't see you there!" he cried.

"Sorry Coach. I've been waiting for you to come home," she said. "I've been trying to figure something out and I was wondering if you could help me."

Coach took a bite of his apple. "Go ahead, shoot," he said.

"Since I came home today, I've found a whole bunch of small jewelry boxes all over the loft. In my room, in the kitchen, by the couch – pretty much everywhere. Do you know anything about them?"

"Sorry, Jess, I don't know what you're talking about. What boxes?"

Jess pointed at the table, a good portion of its surface covered in square velvet containers. "Oh, those boxes," said Coach. "Sorry, never saw them before."

"Do you have any idea where they came from?" asked Jess.

"Nope. Weren't here when I left this morning. Did you ask Winston?" he suggested.

"Yeah. He didn't know what I was talking about either. Thanks. I'll ask Nick when he gets home," replied Jess.

"Okay, you do that. Good luck!" Coach smiled and finished his apple. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

Jess stayed in the common area for the rest of the evening, watching TV, knitting, and hanging out with Coach until Nick came home. By then, she had also unearthed a few other boxes (on the hallway table, under the coffee table, and on the television, as well as on the toilet paper dispenser in the bathroom) and had hit an entirely new level of irritation. As soon as Nick walked through the door, she pounced.

"Jess! Hey, why're you still—" he began.

"Nick, what do you know about the jewelry boxes I've found all over the loft today?" Jess asked. She walked towards him at the door where he was removing his jacket.

"Wait, what? What jewelry boxes?" he asked.

She pointed at the table silently.

Nick stifled a laugh at the sight. Apparently she'd been busy on the scavenger hunt he'd inadvertently set up. "Why are you asking me?" he responded.

"Winston and Coach don't know where they came from so that leaves you," she answered pointedly.

"Well, obviously, at least one of them must be lying to you, Jess. Why've they got you so upset?" He put his arms around her. He'd missed her today – and he had to admit to himself, he'd been on pins and needles all afternoon, wondering how she'd react to his latest stunt.

Jess sighed in frustration. "They're everywhere! I made tea – there was a box in the cabinet. Got myself a snack – there was a box in the fridge. Made a sandwich for dinner – there was a box in the breadbox!" She pulled away from Nick and began gesturing wildly. "And in the bathroom! And on my bed! Where are they coming from and why are they all over the loft?" By the time Jess had finished she was visibly worked up.

"I don't know – hey, did you ask Schmidt?" Nick offered. He hadn't gotten Schmidt in on the prank, but it didn't matter – his ignorance would serve Nick's purposes anyway.

"No!" shouted Jess. "That's a good idea! I'll go do that!" she continued, still shouting.

She stalked over across the hall to apartment 4C and knocked on Schmidt's door. He opened it a moment later.

"Hey, Schmidt, do you know anything about a bunch of jewelry boxes I found in the loft today? The small kind, you know, the kind that could hold a ring?" she asked.

Schmidt looked at Jess with his usual attitude of simultaneous exasperation and patronizing concern. "Jess, I've been at work since 7 AM today and just got home an hour ago. Why would I know anything about a bunch of jewelry boxes? Did you ask Nick? Did he rob a jewelry store? I knew it would come to this. He wants to spoil you and he just can't afford that kind of lifestyle on his meager wages. I told him to stop buying you those flowers every week but the man just doesn't listen to sense."

"What?" replied Jess. "No, Nick didn't rob a jewelry store. Besides, all the boxes were empty. I checked." She sighed. The adrenaline rush propelling her across the hall had just run out. "Thanks anyway, Schmidt. Have a good night."

"Good night," he replied, and closed his door.

Jess returned to the loft, lost in thought. She wandered around, looking for Nick, until she found him in his room.

"Hey, Jess," he called as she walked in. "Look what I found!" He had a small pile of boxes sitting next to him on the bed.

"Let me guess," she replied. "You found them in your dresser drawers, and under your blankets, and on your pillow, too."

"No, actually – they were just in a big pile here. Go figure."

"I don't get it!" Jess yelled. "Why are all these boxes everywhere I go?"

"I guess someone must think it's funny. I mean, it _is_ kind of funny, right? Why is this bothering you so much, Jess?"

"Because they're everywhere, and they're annoying, and no one will tell me anything about them, and they're all empty!"

"Oh, so that's it," said Nick. He had a knowing smirk on his face. He'd _known_ this trick would get to her.

"What's it?" asked Jess. She looked curious. Annoyed, but curious. She stepped towards Nick as he stood up in front of her.

"Maybe it's the fact that they're _empty_ that's bothering you. Why is that, Jess? Are you trying to tell me something? Maybe _you_ left the boxes all over the loft to send _me _a message. Is that it?" He was really pushing it here and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. Jess was too easy a target.

_"What?"_ Jess asked, incredulous. "No, I had nothing to do with them and you know it! Why would you even—wait a minute. You know something. I can tell. Who did this? Why'd they do it?" She paused her interrogation to hug him around his waist and very unsubtly began feeling up his back. "You're not sweating. Why aren't you sweating? I know you're not telling me everything. Something's up, and you're at the bottom of it."

Nick pried Jess's arms from around him and moved his hands down her arms until he was holding her hands in his. "Jess, calm down – you're talking a little crazy, here. Someone around here must've thought it was a great idea to stick a bunch of empty jewelry boxes all over the place—so why are you assuming it was me?"

"I just do, dammit! It's got your style all over it, Miller. And believe me, you're gonna crack – just give me time," she pointed at Nick for emphasis and turned to walk away.

"Jess, you're not a private investigator! This isn't a crime to solve – there is no crime!" he argued, following her out of the room into the bathroom.

They both stood there, at the sinks, brushing their teeth in silence, Nick with his eyebrows raised, glancing at Jess every few moments, and Jess seething in frustration. After Jess finished, she opened the medicine cabinet to get out her dental floss when another two boxes fell out and landed on the shelf below, toppling half a dozen toiletries, and yet another box, into the sink. She screamed in frustration.

"Enough freaking boxes! Fine! You're right - I don't want to see another box unless it's gonna be mine and there's gonna be something in it!" Jess stormed off to her room, slammed the door, then opened it, yelled, and slammed it again.

"And I don't mean that sexually!"


	5. On Bended Knee

**AN: Thanks, as always, to Captain Crunk.**

_Thunk. _Nick jumped.

The number of boxes Jess kept finding in the loft had dropped dramatically as the week progressed, but they still showed up occasionally in random places. Such as, in this case, in one of Jess's handbags, which had prompted her to throw the latest offender at her bedroom door. Violently.

Suggesting that Jess was on edge was like saying Schmidt sometimes liked to comb his hair – a serious understatement. It was time for the next stage. Nick filled a glass of water in the kitchen and waited until Jess walked out of her room. As she turned into the kitchen, he tipped his glass. Then he bent down on the floor, in a rather…suggestive position.

"Hey, Jess," he called. Jess turned towards him and froze, her eyes wide. Well, wider than usual. His voice turned serious. "Jessica, will you…what? What is it?" he asked.

"No! I mean, nothing! I mean, I mean – go on," she stuttered.

"Will you get me a couple of paper towels? I just spilled some water." He looked innocently at her.

"Ugh! Sure. Yes. Fine," she groused and aggressively pulled a handful of paper towels off the roll. She stuck her hand out and held them out to Nick. He took them from her and began mopping up the spill.

"Thanks," he said, in as gentle a tone as he could manage. He was beginning to second-guess this whole plan, but dammit, he was going to ask her, and he needed a way to do it, and this was all he had. He hadn't counted on having to walk on eggshells around Jess as a result, though, and he _really_ felt bad about making her upset, but he'd be as sweet as possible to make up for it as long as this worked. If she'd say yes, it would all be worth it.

But not yet.

"I'm going out to run some errands. I'll see you later," she said, walking to the door. She slammed it shut, of course.

The rest of that Sunday progressed in a normal fashion, as did the following few days. Except that at some point, once a day, Nick just happened to find himself on the floor, on one knee, asking Jess for… something. What? It was comfortable to get down on the ground like that – it was easier to get up that way and his back wasn't getting any younger.

On Monday, he stopped her as they were walking to the bar in the afternoon. School was over and it was time for his shift. "Jessica, will you…wait a second so I can tie my shoe?" he'd asked. Her wide-eyed look of… shock? Terror? Excitement? Had dissipated quickly and turned into a sour frown as soon as he'd finished asking. He made her a really nice drink afterwards to make up for it.

On Tuesday, he happened to have dropped an armload of laundry on the way back from the dryer – he'd purposely neglected to bring a basket. "Jess, will you… help me pick up my clothes?" he'd asked, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by socks. This time she'd sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes as she got down on the floor with him. He started folding them once they got everything back to his room and she almost smiled in spite of herself. By now he'd figured out he had at least one thing going for him – she really _did_ like seeing him take care of himself. So that, thankfully, cancelled out her irritation.

On Wednesday, he noticed a bit of fuzz clinging to his pants and held on to it as they got up from the couch to go to bed, then managed to attach it to her skirt when she wasn't looking. He stopped her in the hallway between their rooms and got down on one knee. "Jessica, will you… wait a second? You have something on your skirt." He held up the piece of fuzz. "See?" After that try, she had turned around in a huff and walked to her room to change.

On Thursday, he'd called her into his room as he knelt by his bed. "Jess, will you… help me find my tennis ball? It rolled under the bed where I can't see it and you're smaller and have bigger eyes than I do."

Jess sighed, crawled under the bed, and came out the other end with a fuzzy green ball in one hand – and another ring box in the other. "Here," she said, her tone testy, and threw the box at – not towards – Nick. He jumped away from the projectile as she continued, throwing the ball wildly at Nick as well. "And there's your tennis ball. Anything else you need me to do while you're kneeling on the ground? Scrub the floor? Find a lost contact lens? Answer another question that isn't a proposal?"

"Whoa!" cried Nick, catching the ball as it ricocheted off the wall. "Watch it, Venus!" He figured he'd let her dig about a proposal go and then sighed. One more night – he just needed one more night and then he could ask her and he'd stop feeling guilty about putting her through this. Also, he had one last stunt to pull, and taking her to the venue he had in mind wouldn't hurt. Well, his wallet would be in pain, but that was a standard state of affairs. "Jess, you've been stressed out all week. Tell you what – why don't we go out tomorrow night, relax, do something special?" He could see her start to soften. He continued, "I know – let's go back to that fancy restaurant, have a nice dinner – see what the food's actually like there, right?"

"You want to go out?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah," he said.

"To a fancy restaurant." Her tone was suspicious. She walked around the bed and stood in front of Nick, her eyes scanning his face, searching for answers.

"Sure. What was the name of that place? Beso?"

"Okay. But _I'll_ make the reservations," said Jess.

"Okay, fine," Nick replied, relieved. She was going along with it. She was going along with it, and that was all that mattered.

"Good," said Jess.

"Great." Nick smiled and kissed her. Everything was moving along exactly as he'd planned.


End file.
